CALLBACK
my mother calls me her own name
when she praises
my work. my work, as if it has value.
value, i mean meaning. my mother
praises my work
prints it off passes it around the office
emails me her coworkers’ replies. praise. praise.
and what of it? a mirror can be anything
made of glass or self. i’ve hung
so many paintings in my home i’m surrounded
by beauty or my face
waiting to catch it. i must
love myself. love being another form of
obsession. indulgence. pleasure
to the point of pain; gluttony. surely i must love
myself to stare so long and so hard. i didn’t learn
narcissus’ name until it was too late. i was
grown. i’d seen water. i’d covered my home
in mirrors. i’d learned to hide
from myself, who i love so dearly,
whose eyes i never meet.
all my friends are deviants
i want to be alive. i want something steady
to stand on. i want to be more than i am. to recognize myself
in the mirror. i want more to recognize my potential in the mirror.
i dream in fits and starts. i name myself. taste myself. touch
myself. i keep my beauty like a secret.
i avoid being seen. i meet the eyes trailing me. i flock to mirrors
then shatter. skirt glances. i make myself small
and cold. i wait until my knees ache. until i’m shaking.
until my body is begging for me to move.
i live the legacy of broken boytoy.
i scrape the mess of my life with my teeth.
let my stomach acid dissolve my mess.
let my body make whole my mess.
i find divinity in the rare silence gifted to me
by my cluttered mind. yes, i am seeking the turgid sun.
i safeguard what’s little left of my life.
guilt, a swollen tongue. avoidance, a sweat cleanse.
time, a weight buoying life. i’ve plead. begged.
changed myself to fit into the hole
left behind.